Men Like Us
by AlmondEyes1025
Summary: A series of one shots depicting the lives of the Tokyo Oniwabanshuu; how men became warriors and warriors became outcasts.


A/N: I always loved the Oniwabanshuu and I have been particularly intrigued by the Tokyo faction since I first saw them on the anime Rurouni Kenshin. These characters always seemed to have a lot of potential and I wish that we had gotten to see more of them before the were killed off. My neighbor's seven year old granddaughter once said something about the characters of _The nightmare Before Christmas _that I think describes the Tokyo Oniwabanshuu perfectly: "They act all scary, but they're really sweet." I think this is true not only when you consider how dedicated these guys were to Aoshi, but especially when you consider how dedicated Misao was to them. They must have been great babysitters! ;)

Anyway, I'd like to thank my wonderful beta, First Weaver! She had this draft edited in no time and (read her profile) for an RN, that's impressive! So thank you for taking the time to do this for me and for your expediency!

Disclaimer: I do not own Rurouni Kenshin.

Chapter 1: The Monster and the Prodigy

I remember my _okaasan_, at least vaguely. She was a very plain woman with a round, childlike face and large country hands. But for all her plainness she had lustrous dark hair that I would play with as I lay by her side at night, twirling it around my fingers and coiling it around my wrists. She would rub my back and mumble nonsense melodies to me in a futile attempt to lull me to sleep. I never slept much as a child because of the constant dull ache in my stomach. The endless pangs of gnawing hunger plagued us all and the people of my village became desperate skeletal shells, willing to sacrifice most anything for another meal. When I was very small, I cried from the fatigue and pain of starvation until the day my _otousan_ hit me clean across the face. My _okaasan_ screamed as I fell to the ground in fear and anguish, and I learned to keep my silence.

The practice of '_kogaeshi_' was all too common in my village. I remember my childhood playmate, a gritty little boy with stubby legs. His name was Yori and he was a quiet, stupid child. We used to draw pictures in the dirt and collect smooth, flat stones, when there was time. We could not have been much older than six years, but I suppose I remember him so well because his absence seemed so conspicuous to me. The day that Yori was returned, I waited for him beneath the shade of a Hornbeam maple tree for what must have been hours. My _obaasan_ must have been watching me; she approached me and told me that Yori's soul had returned to Heaven and was preparing for rebirth. At the time, I did not fully understand the implications of what she had told me, only that Yori would someday return. Later that day I noticed that the earth by Yori's house had been recently upturned; his parents had barred his bones beneath the house so that his young spirit might watch over them. It was not long after that my family would face a similar fate.

One night as I lay on my _futon_, I heard a scraping sound outside. In my restlessness, I crept out to investigate. I saw my _otousan_ digging at the edge of our home. The hole that he had dug was shallow, small enough that I might have just fit inside of it if I was curled up tight. Wiping his forehead, _otousan_ turned and, noticing that I was watching him, instructed me to go and put on my _haori_; we would be leaving soon. When I had done as he instructed, I returned to him and he lifted me up into his arms, allowing my head to rest limply on his shoulder as he carried me to the outskirts of the village. My father walked in silence and I did not question him. When we had reached a forested area, he set me down. With that my father crouched low and breathed in deep, turning his face from me. He might have looked as if he were only resting if his shoulders had not been shaking.

With a determined sigh, my _otousan_ faced me; his eyes had a heavy and shamed look. To this day I still wonder if it was his inability to kill me or his decision to abandon me that humbled him the most. Keeping his haunted gaze focused on me, my _otousan_ backed away slowly.

"Leave this village and never come back here."

I was suddenly very aware of how small I felt. The muscles in my chest constricted and my breathing became somewhat labored. I looked at the (suddenly) strange man before me and felt keenly that he was a man possessed. At such a young age, I knew nothing of what might have caused my flesh and blood relative to disown me so suddenly, and I suspected that he had gone mad. I feared him and yet simultaneously yearned for him to hold me, felt a panicked desire to feel his hot breath on the nape of my neck once more and for his calloused hands to hold me in a gruff but sure embrace. This strange man, _Otousan_, was no longer _mine_ and I was no longer his. At that moment I came to understand a fraction what had happened to Yori.

I did not cry; I did not openly beg for my father to take me back. I knew better than to cry and to fight what must be. Yori had returned to Heaven, they'd said, so that he might be reborn. Perhaps he was born once more, returned to his family years later; I would not know. But I remember realizing, as my _otousan_ walked away from me, that I would never return to my family again, in body or in spirit. I had been given a chance to live, but not to thrive. In my _otousan's_ weakness, he doomed me to exist as a dog, a lone wolf. In being granted survival, I was stripped of my humanity and forced to exist for nothing.

Clutching my _haori_ tight, I ventured into the strange forest where I was lucky enough to find a little hollow at the base of a tree. There I rested but did not sleep; my fingers were numb from cold and grief over the loss of my family-my home-sat in my chest like a heavy weight. When the shock of what had happened to me had lessened I was able to pick myself up and venture further into the wilderness. For almost a day I did not eat until I happened upon some edible wild _kinoko_ at the base of a tree. Having grown up in a farming village, I had long been able to identify the wild fungi and it was to my benefit. I ate enough to replenish my strength somewhat, and was able to travel further that day. After some days of making my way through the forest and eating what food I could find, I discovered some nameless town. There I was able to steal more nourishing meals and it was in that town that I began to cultivate my life as a vagabond.

For a year, I lived as an animal. I ventured from place to place, never existing in one spot for very long. I scavenged for food and shelter daily. I stole what I could and often ate what garbage I found; the edible scraps leftover by those that still had a claim to a real life. Despite the harsh living conditions with which I was saddled, I managed to survive. I mingled little with the dregs of society, their wayward ideals and pathetic plights meant almost nothing to me and I found myself unable to relate to those that shared a semblance of my situation. As I traveled the streets of cities and the countryside of Japan, I learned quickly that it was better to see than to be seen. I observed ruffians and criminals alike, many destitute and homeless like myself, that found themselves in compromising situations, whether with the law or with their fellow lowlifes. I saw how easy it was to die and how fragile a human life truly was. I bore witness to the ugly underbelly of society, the grasping and greedy that killed and sacrificed the lives and happinesses of others without thought. I learned quickly to watch and listen so that after a year of living my half-life I could sense danger with unnatural ease. I discovered that I had a talent for being invisible and a talent for watching, for knowing. With these skills, I was able to ensure my own safety and survival.

Eventually my travels took me to the city of Edo, something for which I thank Kami-_sama_ every day. Had I never ventured to that city, I never would have become the man that I am today. I would not have known honor, strength, and love the way that I do now. I would never have met _him_.

Shinomori Aoshi was a boy of ten at the time, the child prodigy and pride of the Oniwabanshuu. He had progressed quickly in both his physical ability and education in the arts of the _onmitsu_. He had all of the makings of a great warrior and a great scholar. When I first saw him, I had been observing the quiet streets in wait for an opportunity to pilfer food from a house that I believed to be abandoned. I crept surreptitiously toward it and found that all of the doors and windows had been sealed up tightly; breaking in would be an arduous task.

Out of nowhere, a hand appeared on my shoulder. Cursing, I turned to face the boy—Aoshi—who was not much older than I at the time. My eyes narrowed and my pulse began to race as I wondered how he had managed to come up behind me unnoticed. The incongruously beautiful boy observed me with an unreadable expression for a moment before he spoke, in a low voice,

"You have a strong presence, but your expression is too harsh. It would be your downfall in a battle." Unnerved and offended, I tried to swat his hand away but Aoshi, being a skilled _kempo_ master, was able to subdue me quickly.

"Come," he intoned, and with that he led me, somewhat forcibly, inside of the building. The "house" that I had been attempting to rob was in fact a temporary headquarters in which several _onmitsu_ had been stationed. I had unknowingly crossed paths with the Oniwabanshuu.

When I saw the formidable warriors, many of whom were armed with a variety of weapons, I feared that they would kill me for my insolence. However, I was both surprised and suspicious when they instead offered me food and gentle words. Though I would not speak and only glared, it seemed that these people would now be cowed by my "harsh expression."

It was the boy I'd first met that addressed me as I sat warily eyeing the food they'd provided. He told me that the Oniwabanshuu was a respectable and elite group of _ninja_ and offered to train me in _kempo_, his preferred martial art. His words were short and concise; he did not smile but seemed to be sincere and his low, even toned voice soothed some of my discomfort.

"It is because of your apparent potential that I would offer you training with us. The Oniwabanshuu will make you stronger and you in turn will do the same for us." he told me, his ice blue eyes unreadable. I regarded him with an air of caution, deciding that to trust these strangers would be better than to incur their wrath. With that, I gingerly picked up a small piece of grilled sea bass and sniffed it out of habit and caution. Detecting no trace of rot I lifted the fish to my lips and snared it with my incisors. I chewed slowly and deliberately, having learned to savor my meals as they were too few and far between. It took me an hour to finish what I could of the simple dish of fish, steamed vegetables and rice. The boy warrior had watched me keenly throughout the entirety of my meal, something that would normally have made me vastly uncomfortable, but I found that I generally liked his collected and unwavering persona. Unsure what to do, I stared at the young _onmitsu_ and found myself admiring his delicate features and powerful young body. His hair, which was as dark as the night sky, was kept tied back away from his face and its high sheen luster reminded me irresistibly of my _okaasan's_. I found him captivating.

"So," he prompted me, "Will you let me train you?" The moment that the words had left his lips, I felt myself shudder as a wave of anticipation rolled over me. For the first time in a year, I was beginning to feel again; a spark of emotion had been lit within me and I regarded it as one might a long forgotten friend. I felt myself become afraid and relieved all at once; the urge to break down in tears was strong. I breathed in slowly, bracing myself for the strange and unfamiliar feel of words at the tip of my tongue.

"For you," I said in a hoarse voice, lacking practice, "Anything, my master." With that I managed an awkward low bow. I peered up to see him looking at me with satisfaction, and the beginnings of a fierce camaraderie began to emerge between us. That night I slept on a soft futon, tended to by a small woman that called herself 'Makimachi.' I slept peacefully for the first time in some years, allowing my body to rest and my heart to being taking root in the ninja clan.

I began my training with 'Aoshi-_sama_' who molded me into an efficient fighter and a proficient spy. My ability to see and be unseen was refined and polished; with a consistent source of food and rigorous physical training, my body began to grow and harden. Little by little, I came to trust the _onmitsu_ with whom I worked, but none so much as Aoshi-_sama_. For him I developed an unflagging loyalty and deep affection. My dedication to Aoshi-_sama_ was uncompromisable and I followed each of his instructions with all of my conviction. _Otousan_ had taken my life from me and I knew now for certain that my young soul would never return to the family that I had once known. Aoshi-_sama_ had returned me to life, and the Oniwabanshuu became the only family that I cared for.

It happened two years later that the woman, Makimachi-_san_, having grown round with child, lost her husband to severe pneumonia. In her mourning, she became listless and unwell. Under the strain of her grief, her body began to accept death, but the child would not. She bore a baby girl one month premature, and thus Makimachi-_san_ left this world. The baby was pale, but she had a shrill, strong cry, ten little fingers, and ten little toes. I remember one spring morning, when the baby was several months old, watching Aoshi-_sama_ cradle her in his arms. He ran his index finger over her rosebud mouth and down the curve of her cheek. He loved the child, and she loved him. His presence calmed her, and as her _ojiisan_, our Okashira, had fallen ill and become unfit to raise the child, Aoshi-_sama_ took responsibility for her.

"Little Misao." he mumbled and kissed the sleeping baby's eyelids. The way in which he caressed her, the way he watched her, startled me. In a moment I envisioned Aoshi-_sama_ growing older, turning from a beautiful boy to a beautiful man. He would marry a woman with dark eyes and supple curves and have children with her. He would love his children as he loved Misao. He would love his wife as he would never love me.

I considered my 'harsh expression' and how Aoshi-_sama_ had told me that it would do me no good. As an _onmitsu_, my value was in my ability to go unseen, but my harsh eyes would surely attract attention. My nose was becoming more noticeably hook-like each day and my ears seemed to stick out like those of the baby Macaque that I had seen in one of Aoshi-_sama's_ books. My features were becoming harsh and too defined, like my expression. If they continued to do so, I might be of no use to the Oniwabanshuu for very long.

The place in Aoshi-_sama_'s heart that I would continue to hold would be that of his finest spy and most trusted companion. When I told him of my intentions to disfigure my own face, his eyes shone with something akin to pride. He believed that I would be the greatest spy that the Oniwabanshuu had ever known.

I cut off my ears.

I would always be at Aoshi-_sama_'s side, aiding him in upholding the honor of the Oniwabanshuu.

I cut off my nose.

Together we would care for Misao, and in my heart she would be both his child and mine.

I burned off my lips.

We would raise a happy child that would never know hunger, fear, or loneliness.

I smashed my cheek bones.

When my injuries had healed, I donned the mask of a _Hannya_, a jealous demon woman. It reminded me of the ugliness of the world; that a child could be killed or abandoned by its own parents. It reminded me of the ugliness inside of my own heart. I yearned to be the lover that Aoshi-_sama_ would never make of me. I bristled at the thought that any woman might occupy such a role in the future. To me, my mask represented that I would always love the beautiful prodigy, but that I would never truly _have_ him.

With my harsh expression gone, I found it easier too to hide what I ached for, although I believe that Aoshi-_sama_ has always known. In his kindness, he never rejected me, but kept me close and allowed me to remain his dearest friend. I dare not think that he has ever manipulated my affections for him, for he has always been a man of honor.

In the summer, on balmy afternoons, we would watch Misao as she napped and brush her downy hair out of her face as it clung to her sweat-dotted skin. There we existed in silence for an hour, a moment in time; the monster, the prodigy, and the child that we loved.

Translations:

_okaasan- _mother

_otousan- _father

_obaasan- _grandmother

_ojiisan- _grandfather

_kogaeshi- _"returning the child;" the act of killing children, usually under the age of seven because their spirits would be able to be reborn more easily; could be ordered by the head of the village; an act committed during times of famine.

_kinoko- _mushrooms

_haori- _a light jacket

_Kami-sama- _God

_onmitsu- _ninja

_kempo- (_can also be written as _keno) _the style of martial arts used by the Oniwabanshuu; technically has many divergent forms and can be used to describe many different martial arts in Japan.

_Okashira- _leader


End file.
